


3 Times Blake Fixed Charlie Up. (And the one time he couldn't.)

by miss_nettles_wife



Category: The Doctor Blake Mysteries
Genre: Dermatophagia, Father/Son, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, breakdown - Freeform, raynauds phenomenon, scraped knees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:18:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4281777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_nettles_wife/pseuds/miss_nettles_wife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake always fixed Charlie up. That's just how things were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just a Scrape.

**Author's Note:**

> /Another chapter fic? Why yes, yes it is. A 4 parter this time. Please heed all warnings appropriate to the story. This chapter focuses on scraped knees. And trust, that too. As always leave a comment if you liked it, and feel free to contact me with any questions or concerns.

It's not the first time he's had scraped knees. Tackling people to the ground on a semi regular basis has it's side effects on his body, and one of them is having semi permanently scraped knees. It sometimes feels like he manages to stop picking at one lot of scabs long enough for them to heal, only to have new ones again in a months time. It's annoying, but sadly, something he'd gotten pretty used to over the last few years. Being a clumsy child made him all the more susceptible to the scrapes of childhood. From grazed knees to paper cuts, he'd felt them all. 

His usual treatment for such an injury would be to treat it with rubbing alcohol and a plaster. He's never needed anything else to treat them, after all, his work pants did offer him some limited protection from the gravel. He never thought he'd be grateful for police pants. (He's still not sure he is, they're too tight to really run well, and it's incredibly difficult for him to iron then correctly. ) But of course, the one time he scrapes his knees in front of the doctor, he was wearing shorts. He has no idea why he thought fate would be nice to him today when it's never given him a break before. 

Going for a run, is more or less the height of his day. He's not sure if it's freeing, or if he just likes moving, but every morning, weather permitting, he likes to go for a run. He starts at the house, walking the length of the Doctor's driveway, stretching as he walked. Once he reached the end, he would run the length of the street. Then he would run back, and then again, as many times as he could without wearing himself out. He's fast, and he knows it. There's nothing that he likes more then running. (Except maybe hot chips, but that's another story)  
Coming back down the driveway in the blueish light of the early morning, humming to himself happily, he's a little shocked to see the Doc sitting on the steps. He offers the doctor a wave as he jogs the last few steps. Before he can reach the steps, one of his feet catch on a particularly large rock in the driveway. He falls face down onto the gravel.  
“Charlie!” It's more shock then anything else, he jumps to his feet, while Charlie lies winded in the gravel. He blinks slowly, and tries to get a handle on himself. After a moment, when he feels competent enough to stand, he notices Blake's hand being held out to him. He takes it begrudgingly, and lets Blake help him be pulled up onto his feet. “That looks painful.” Blake said, as Charlie starts to look for his injuries. His knees were pretty shredded, his elbows matched, as did the palms of his hands.  
“God dammit.” He said, holding his hands out in front of him to prevent himself smearing blood on his clothes. “The last lot of scabs just cleared up.” He sighed. Blake actually chuckles at him, and lets go of his other hand.  
“I think you need a sticking plaster.” Blake comments, leading Charlie back into the house by his wrist. 

Jean was already in the hallway when Blake was turning the corner. She followed to look in on the bedraggled Sergeant and the Doctor. “Charlie, what's happened?” She asked, as Blake helped him up onto the table.  
“I fell over on the driveway.” He said, with a small sigh.  
“You fell over?”  
“Tripped over my own feet.' He muttered. Jean tutted, but left him in peace with the Doctor. Blake chuckles slightly to himself Charlie just rolled his eyes. “Thanks Doc.” he grumbled, as Blake started to get out some medical supplies.  
“It is funny.” Blake replied, taking one of Charlie's arms into his hand, to look at his elbow.  
“No it's not. It's painful.”  
“All comedy is derived from misery.” Charlie just sighed softly. “Well there's certainly a lot of gravel.” Blake said, “Not in too much pain are you?” Charlie offered him a very weak smile.  
“No too much.”  
“Alright then.” Blake said, as he started to pick pieces of gravel out of Charlie's arm. Charlie grunted softly in reply as Blake probed a particularly sore spot of broken skin.  
“Why were you...” He pauses to hiss slightly. “On the poarch anyway?” Charlie asked, as an attempt to distract himself from the current feeling of tweezers inside his arms.  
“I was waiting for you.” Blake replied, tapping his tweezers on a little metal bowl.  
“Why? I go for.” Pause. “A run every morning.”  
“I was just curious to hear where it is that you actually run too.”  
“Bloody liar.”  
“I am digging gravel out of your arms and you want to swear at me?”  
“It's your bloody fault.”  
“Tsk.” Blake replied, before wiping Charlie's arm with a cloth slathered in rubbing alcohol. The stinging brought a tear to his eye.  
“Are you trying to kill me?” He grumbled, as Blake checked the cleared wound over for any traces of gravel.  
“I'm trying to look after you. And it would be a lot easier if you would sit still!” Blake scolded, as Charlie shifted in his seat.  
“Well if you weren't so rough, I wouldn't have to!” He said, as Blake wrapped his elbow in a piece of gauze. Blake just chortles sightly, and takes Charlie's other hand into his.  
“Charlie, I'm sorry if I made you trip on the driveway.”  
“I'm joking, Doc.” Charlie offered, softly.  
“You make jokes?”  
“I make.” Pause. “Quite a few, but people are always shocked.” Pause. “When I do.” Blake shakes his head and smiles, tapping his tweezers on the metal bowl.  
“What will I do with you?”  
“Give me the next month rent free?” Blake actually does laugh this time.  
“Done.”  
“I'm joking, you fool.” Charlie said, as Blake prepared a second piece of gauze with antiseptic on it.  
“Don't 'You fool' me.” Blake replied, “I did want to speak with you about the rent, though.”  
“If you put it up then I won't be able to afford it.” Charlie says, suddenly. Blake pauses slightly.  
“I'm not putting it up, wasn't that something I promised you when you moved in?”  
“People break promises. They don't mean anything.”  
“Very cynical, Charlie.”  
“I speak from experience.” he states, hissing and doing his best to keep his arm from yanking away from the doctor. Blake offered him a slightly curious look, but didn't question it.  
“What I wants to talk about, is that you do know that if you're late, or something, you don't have to worry.'  
“What?”  
“Mattie told me that last month, you didn't dryclean your blazer to make the rent.”  
“She promised she wouldn't.”  
“She's your friend, even if you don't think it. She wants what's best for you.”  
“Yeah. And what's best for me is that I continue having a bed to sleep in.”  
“You're my friend as well, Charlie. You don't have to worry if you're short, or a bit late. I offered you a room because I like you, not because I need money.” Charlie swung himself up onto the bed so Blake could pick gravel out of his knees.  
“Well I just like to be sure.”  
“Sure?”  
“That I'll have somewhere to stay.”  
“Sounds like you have a story there.”  
“One I'm keeping well to myself, If you don't mind. “ Blake put his hands up in a surrender gesture, and wiped some of the blood off of Charlie's knee.  
“Might have to trash these socks.” He said, as Charlie looked down at his socks, and gave a long sigh.  
“Just want I needed.” he sighed, softly. Blake's tweezers tapping the bowl was almost deafening in the otherwise silent room.  
“Charlie if the rent is too high you don't have to-”  
“The rent is fine.” He shot, his face returning to it's schooled mask of indifference.  
“Well then how come you're struggling”  
“Why do you care, as long as you get the money?”  
“Because Charlie I know it's hard to believe, but we are your friends, you know.” Blake said, as he started dabbing at his knee with the cotton pad. 'And we care about you. And I care about the state of your blazer. So spill.” Charlie watched him for a moment, before letting out a huge sigh.  
“One of my brothers is sick. I have to help pay doctors bills. Not all of us are lodging in the home of a kindly doctor, after all.”  
“Now now Charlie, let's not get testy.” Blake replied, as he started wrapping up his knee. “How sick is he?”  
“It's...Pretty bad, I'm...Worried.”  
“Are you going to request a transfer?”  
“No.”  
“Why not?”  
“And leave you to deal with Munro on your own? I'd rather shoot myself in the foot.”  
“Thank you, Charlie.” He said, after a moment, and started to carefully fix up Charlie's other knee. Hes not sure how to approach the subject again without hurting Charlie's admittedly bruised pride. Charlie offers him very little in way of help, so he eventually has to do it himself. “You know I'd never throw you out, don't you?”  
“Do I?” Charlie challenged, softly.  
“Well I invited you here.”  
“Under the impression that I could pay the rent.”  
“I was perfectly fine without you paying the rent, Charlie. We were okay before you were here.”  
“As people keep reminding me.”  
“Charlie...”  
“Why do you care so much?” He asked, softly. “Why can't you just leave me be?”  
“Because I'm your friend. Have you never had a friend before?” Blake asked, as he wrapped Charlie's knee tightly in gauze. Charlie just shrugged at him, and spun around to put his knees over the edge of the bed. Blake carefully put a hand on Charlie's shoulder. “You can talk to me, you know that, don't you?”  
“And say what?”  
“Whatever's on your mind.” Charlie studied him for a moment, and when he tries to look away, Blake refuses to let him break eye contact.  
“Why the Hell do you have to be so nice all the time?” He asked, “Why can't you be...Mean? Or angry, why are you always so happy and helpful? Why won't you just….” He puts his hands up in front of him, but he can't express what he's trying to say so they fall into his lap.  
“Would you rather I wasn't?” Blake asked. And after a moment Charlie shook his head no.  
“I just...Don't understand.”  
“Has it ever occurred to you that some people are just...Nice people?” Blake asked, decided to take the risk of sounding proud.  
“It has, but...I can't trust a nice person. An asshole will always be an asshole, no matter what. But a nice person...I mean, what does nice even mean anyway?” He asked, picking at the side of his thumbnail. Blake tilted his head slightly, and then hopped up onto the table next to Charlie.  
“I don't know.” He said, after a moment. “But I'll tell you what I do know.”  
“And what's that?”  
“I know that you're a good kid. You mean well and you always want to do the right thing.”  
“Okay.”  
“And I like to think I'm a good man.”  
“Are you?”  
“No. Not really.” For some reason, that makes Charlie laugh. Blake smiles at him.  
“You have a nice laugh. Can't say I've ever heard it before.”  
“Well I only laugh if it's funny.” Blake smiled at him.  
“I'd like to hear it some more around here. Maybe you would if you weren't so worried about the rent.” Charlie rolled his eyes and examined one of his knees carefully.  
“What were you saying about being a good man?”  
“Right, right. I'm a good man. And I want you to be able to trust me.”  
“Easier said then done.”  
“I know.”  
“And you don't trust me, either.”  
“No, not really.” Blake put his hand on Charlie's leg. Charlie looked at it with a frown, but didn't move it away. Charlie looked at the doctor again, and then shifted his leg away. Blake put his hand back in his lap. 

Despite his best attempts to include Charlie in their family, he always remained the outsider. If it had something to do with him being the land lord, or maybe his eccentricity, Blake didn't know. Charlie seemed like a fairly stable young man. Fairly clever. Fairly handsome. Just...Fair. Fair skin, fair eyes, that was the best way he had to describe him. And maybe it was fair of him to stay on the outside as well. They didn't trust one another. But Blake could feel the bridge between them building. They'd get there, he decided, as he helped Charlie off the table and back onto the floor. It would just take baby steps.


	2. Paranoia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I'm sure that Mrs Beazley won't mind setting another place for dinner, if you'd like to come over?” Blake offers him, taking a seat in front of his desk, as Charlie feeds paper into his type writer.   
> “I'm fine, but thank you, Doc.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N this chapter deals with skin-biting and Dermatophagia. Why? Because I like to project myself onto my favorite characters, that's why. Does anybody else ever do that? IDK . Anyway. Enjoy. As always, leave a review if you liked it. (Or not.) Feel free to contact me with comments questions or concerns.

…….  
Charlie would be lying if he said that he wasn't a paranoid man. He'd spent his whole life being blindsided, to the point now that he's too afraid of people to even give them a shot at being trust worthy. He knows, logically, that Blake it at least somewhat deserving of his trust. The man hasn't attempted to manipulate him, or killed him in his sleep, and maybe five years ago that would have been enough. But more recently, it wasn't. He had no desire to make friends in Ballarat. He'd be leaving soon, and then he'd feel bad when he left, and all his emotions would escape their carefully made pens in his mind, creep out and expose themselves to them and that….Well that was unacceptable. So he kept the distance between them in some hope that he would be able to protect himself from heart break. 

There is nothing quite as satisfying as the split of enamel under your teeth. Charlie's always maintained that To himself, more then anything else. It certainly wouldn't do to go around telling people that you bite your nails, who knows what they might say. The thin white line that crossed the tip of his fingers was always temptation, but after he arrives in Ballarat, for a while, he doesn't notice it. He's far to busy trying to keep up with the Doctor and Lawson to really be bothered with it. The Doctor does his head in on the best of days, but he doesn't mind because he seems stable and he's always right. 

Except when he isn't. Because no one can be right forever. He knows that but it doesn't much help him when they watch Lawson leave the station. You should be proud of your Senior Constable. It rattles around in his skull, until he thinks it might burst out of his eyes. Why would anyone have cause to be proud of him? He did nothing.   
His eyes water because he's emotional and God dammit he has come to care for these idiot men, and this stupid station in this God forsaken town. His hand goes to his mouth before he can control it, and his thumb nail (Or what's left of it) presses up against his front two teeth. Blake gives him a look of concern, as he walks back around to his desk. He has paperwork to do, and it's not like he has enough nail to bite anyway.   
“I'm sure that Mrs Beazley won't mind setting another place for dinner, if you'd like to come over?” Blake offers him, taking a seat in front of his desk, as Charlie feeds paper into his type writer.   
“I'm fine, but thank you, Doc.” Charlie said, as he starts to type away on the type writer. People have left him consistantly in his life, he has no idea why he's so overcome with Lawson's leaving. Perhaps it's a natural response to him having played a part in it. (Even so, he'd always had favorable reports on Lawson. He was a good cop. It was Blake that he complained about. ) His mouth is suddenly very dry, and he finds himself craving a comfort. Blake puts a hand over his on the type writer.   
“I seriously hope you aren't blaming yourself right now, Charlie.” He stares at the hand covering his, making small comparisons. Blake's hand is much tanner then his. If this is because he's older or because he spends more time outside Charlie isn't sure. There's a bruise under the middle finger's nail, purple in colour, compared to the rest of the pink ish nail. His hands are a lot warmer then Charlie's but he doesn't seem to concerned by his cold fingers. He's torn from his observation by a second pair of fingers, clicking in his face. He moves his head back, and tugs his hand out from under Blake's.   
“Charlie? You zoned out on me.”  
“Sorry, Doc.”   
“I asked if you were sure if-”  
“Yes, I'm sure.” He said, simply. Blake sighed softly, and nodded.   
“Alright.” He said, finally. Charlie can't bring himself to admit that he turned it down because he wants to bite his nails in peace, so he doesn't, and he hoped that Blake won't notice.   
...

As it turns out, you only have so much nail you can bite. But he just couldn't stop once he'd begun. It was hypnotizing. The more he bit the nail, the softer it became. The softer it became, and the softer it became, the less he could help himself. It effected the skin as well. The skin turned soft, pliable. He hardly felt a thing when he moved onto biting that as well. 

...   
“Charlie.” It seems that he says that more then anyone else he'd ever met. Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. Sometimes twice in the same sentence.   
“Yes, Doc.”  
“I want to speak with you.” He sound hesitant and very much unlike the Doctor he'd come to know.   
“About what?” He asks, knocking back the last of the water in his cup. Blake looks pointedly at his fingers. The tips of them were wrapped in plaster, hiding the damage he'd inflicted from the rest of the world. “It's nothing.”  
“It doesn't look like nothing.”  
“Trust me, Doc. It's nothing.” He insists. But Blake is still not convinced.   
“At least let me dress them properly?” Blake asks, standing. Charlie drums his fingers on his leg before nodding, finally.   
“Alright.” He agreed. Maybe if he had them dressed properly, then he wouldn't bite them. And being able to type without pain would probably be a good thing, since Munro insisted that all reports should be typed. Lawson preferred them typed, but if one was hand written then he wouldn't say anything. Charlie himself had always typed his reports out of habit. Just something he'd always done, but having the option of using a pen appealed to him. (Well it had, until Munro described his handwriting as 'feminine')   
He trailed after Blake into the surgery. Blake offered him a seat in front of the desk. He sat, after a moment, watching as the Doctor collected gauze and medical tape. He sits opposite to him, trying to make himself appear non threatening, which in Charlie's book can only mean one thing: He was going to get a lecture and he was trying not to scare him away.   
“What happened?” He asked, as he slowly peeled the wrapping off of Charlie's fingers.   
“Nothing.” He replied, watching with interest as the plaster pulled away, revealing the raw tips of his fingers.   
“Doesn't look like nothing, Charlie.”  
“Well it is.” He snapped, as Blake pulled away another plaster.   
“Now now.” He scolded, but Charlie could see his face pale at the sigh of his ruined fingertips. “Charlie...”  
“You're always so smart, Doc. Just say it.”  
“You bite your nails, obviously.”  
“Yeah.”  
“And I assume you ran out of nail.”  
“Yeah.” he said, but slightly softer this time. “When did you notice?”  
“Charlie I'm a doctor. I noticed the callusing the first time we met.” He said, softly. “But you seemed to have it under control until at least very recently.”  
“I did.”  
“So?”  
“No reason. I just had a craving.”  
“This must be weeks worth of damage, Charlie. There was a reason.” Charlie looks at him for a long time, and then looks away,   
“Are you gonna fix 'em or not?” He asked, hesitantly. Blake nodded,   
“Of course I am.” he said, turning to cut some strips of gauze off of the role. “But I'm worried about you. Is there something going on? Something you aren't telling us?” Of course there is. There always is. He has to get Munro out of here somehow.   
“No.” He lies, he always lies. That's what he does best.   
“Of course.” Blake said, finally. “Spill it, Charlie.” Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me, Charlie thinks, as he watches Blake carefully wrap his ruined fingers.   
“There's nothing to spill. I compulsively bite my nails, happy?” Blake looks him right in the eye and for one heart stopping moment, Charlie thinks that Blake has seen right though him.   
“Are you scared, Charlie?”  
“Yes.” He breathes, not really thinking. Not really having any time to come up with a good lie.   
“Of me?” It could just be his paranoia talking, (And it tended to do that.) But he was very scared of Blake. He didn't need Hobart's stupid stories to scare him into fearing the man. Blake was a hurricane in human skin on a good day. (And that's not even mentioning his spying thing.)   
“Of me?”  
“Yes.” Blake seems confused by the revelation.   
“Why?” And Charlie really has no way to vocalize his thoughts without hurting himself in the process.   
“Because.” He states, not really sure what he was supposed to say. His second hand goes to his mouth without him even thinking. He was about to bite down when Blake carefully moves his hand away.   
“Talk to me. Can I clear something up?”  
“No. Not really.”  
“You're just scared of me. And I'm meant to just accept that?”  
“Lawson would.”  
“Let's not bring him into this, Charlie. Lawson tried to scare you. I'm trying to be your friend.”  
“And I don't understand why. Out of all the people at the station, why me? Why are you so nice to me? Why do you care so much if I bite my nails? Why can't you just be like everyone else?” He asks, “One day, just like everyone else, you'll be gone as well. And I will have been a fool for caring about you. For letting myself feel like I could be part of whatever the hell this family you have going on is, and that's just the tip of the ice berg! That's not counting the fact that you are so totally unpredictable, that's not counting your China thing or your mysterious past or the amount of people the station has asking after you, that's just right here and right now. Who wouldn't be a little afraid of you?” Blake seemed almost lost for words, for a moment. He'd been expecting something, and Charlie has a feeling that it wasn't that.   
“So why stay?” Blake asks, softly. Charlies hand goes back to his mouth, but Blake doesn't move it away, just lets him think it out.   
“Because...I'm scared. I'm scared because...Because I really shouldn't like you. You break the rules, all of them, you do everything I was taught not to do, you make a mess, you make things hard at work, you cause me so much trouble...” He said, scraping his teeth over his thumbnail, while Blake held his other hand tightly, like he was going to run away. “I'm so scared, because I like you.” Blake looks up. “Because I really, and truly like you….And I get the feeling that you like...Or you at least tolerate me.” He manages to get his teeth under the tiny amount of nail he had, and breaks it off. He pulls the hand away from his mouth and Blake catches it. He takes both of them into his own, and stares at Charlie. “I don't want to like you.” He admits, “I didn't come here to make friends.” He said, softly. “I hate being in groups of people. I hate being so...So attached to you.” He sniffs. “But I like you enough to stay. Munro wants to send me back to Melboure but I told him I'd rather stay here, with you.” He said, looking as Blake starts to wrap his other hand in gauze as well. “You must think I'm an idiot.”  
“Why would I think that?”  
“Because I ruined my fingers.”  
“It's a nervous tick. I don't think it's something you can control.”  
“I can't control it.”  
“Now we're getting somewhere...Should I give you the number of-”  
“No. I don't want to talk to anyone. I don't want to have a heart to heart with you, or anyone else for that matter. I just want to be left alone.”  
“Do you?”  
“I'm used to it.” He dead panned.  
“Used to it?”  
“No. I'm not talking about this with you.”  
“Why not?” Because if I start, I don't know if I can stop, he thinks.   
“Because….” He said, with a small shrug. “I don't want to. I don't need anyone to tell me how to live.”  
“I'm sure you don't, but if you've hurt yourself, as your doctor, don't you think it's my right...” Blake begins. But Charlie doesn't let him finish. Blake doesn't let go of his arm.   
“What changed. What triggered this?”  
“Nothing.”  
“Charlie...Does this have something to do with Lawson? He told you that-”  
“Lawson said a lot of things, that doesn't mean they were true.” He snapped, he realizes only too late that he gave himself away.   
“Charlie...” Blake said, in a soft sort of breathy tone, like he was talking to some kind of child. A child who just confessed to being bullied and the parent had no idea what to do. So he did what he did best, he put up a facade of anger,   
“ Now you know. Now you know how alone I am. Now you know how scared I am. Now you know why I bite my nails. Now you know. What are you going to do?” Blake stands, and Charlie watches him, trying his best to pretend that there aren't tears in his eyes. After a second, the Doctor gives Charlie his hands back, and pulls him into a tight hug. 

Charlie's hands eventually find their way onto Blake's cardigan, and they attach themselves to it, out of his control. His eyes water, but no tears escape. Blake holds him until he breaks away. He tries his very best too compose himself, and almost succeeds. “Thanks.” He said, after a moment, and he's not sure if he means for the gauze, or for the hug. Blake doesn't seem to know either. But for a moment, and only a moment, mind you, just one moment, before the crashing realization of the situation set in, Charlie felt as if maybe, just maybe, things were going to be okay.


	3. Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What's on your mind?” Blake persists. Charlie caves. (The way he always does.) 
> 
> “Emma Keneally.”

“He's been out there for an hour.” Mattie said, softly. Blake looked out the kitchen window and out at Charlie. He was just sitting out on the grass, looking out at the sky line.   
“Maybe he's just enjoying the weather.”  
“He's got that glazed over look he gets when he zones out.” Charlie zoning out was becoming more and more of a problem these days. He sighed softly, and nodded.  
“Alright. I'll go talk to him.” God only knows that in the whole time Charlie had been in Ballarat, Blake was the only person he'd come to trust enough to talk to. (But that was about all he trusted him with.) 

He walks out onto the grass, and then takes a seat next to Charlie. Charlie turns to face him slightly, and Blake finds his eyes drawn to Charlie's fingers. They'd healed pretty well, and Charlie hadn't been biting at them recently, which was a good thing. (He had noticed him drawing in his notebook of late, perhaps that was his new release for his paranoia?) Either way, he was glad to see Charlie's fingers looking better. “Penny for your thoughts?” He offered. Charlie shrugged in reply. His hands were secured in the front of his legs, his knees up, his ankles crossed. Very defensive.   
“You actually gonna give me a penny, Doc?”  
“Maybe.” Charlie scoffs slightly, and looks back out onto the horizon.   
“What's on your mind?” Blake persists. Charlie caves. (The way he always does.) 

“Emma Keneally.”  
“The social worker?”  
“Yeah.” Blake has to say that he's surprised to hear that.   
“What are you thinking about, in regards to her?”  
“Well...She died. Her life ended. Everything she ever could have been or would have been is gone.”  
“True.”  
“And...Mary Jackson, she'll never ever forget the night that someone tried to kill her, and she'll have to spend the rest of her life knowing that Emma Keneally died because she was wearing her coat. I can't ever imagine how much guilt she must feel. That's two.”  
“Two?”  
“Lives, Doctor.”  
“Oh.”  
“And well...Mattie...She heard her friend get shot. She took her pulse, that's another one.” The doctor doesn't comment, just lets Charlie talk it out the way he always does. “And that little girl, Gracie...She saw it. She saw what people think of people with her skin colour and she'll never forget that now. She'll grow up disadvantaged because of the colour of her skin. That's four.”  
“Hm.”  
“Let's not forget Winston Cummings.” Charlie sighed, licking his lips. “It'll be on his record forever now. Everyone will now know he was the main suspect in a murder investigation. God he's just a kid.' He commented, “And...Well Hobart wanted to beat him, with a phone book, God.” He repeats.   
“What did you do, Charlie?”  
“Well I stopped him. The way I always do.” He said, sounding very bitter. “I made it very clear who's side I was on. I suppose that's two more lives then.” Blake nods, starting to catch on to what Charlie was saying. “Andy Van der Hyden...His brother is convicted now. Has to live with that. Another life.” He pauses to let his knees down, and Blake notes the pale colour of Charlie's fingers. “And...His father, when you think about it, I mean, I mean really think about it, it's largely his fault.” Blake actually looks a little surprised. He'd always known Charlie to have rather limited peripheral vision. “He taught his child, to view black children as less then him. He taught him the term 'Darkie' and gave him the impression that….' Charlie sighed softly. “Another two.” Blake shifts closer, and hesitantly put an arm around Charlie's shoulder. He lets it sit there when Charlie doesn't push it away. “All the children at that orphanage. They lost a friend. The Goldsmiths, even if they weren't her friend so much, two more lives changed.” He pauses, to consider his next words. “I interviewed, or read the interview, of everyone who was at that bonfire.”   
“And?” He prompts, when Charlie looks like he might zone out again.   
“For the rest of their lives, Fifth of November is going to be the night that Emma Keneally was shot in the back. That's easily another fifty lives all changed.”  
“A lot of lives.”  
“And it doesn't end there. Emma Keneally, she had friends. Family. Parents, siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles. Who know how many more lives she effected.” Blake gently tugs Charlie closer to him, so he can put his head onto Blake's shoulder. He complies.   
“And on top, we can put Tommy Van Der Hayden, who shot one woman, and tried to shoot another because he thought a girl owed him...Something. I don't even know what. How does a human even think like that? A girl won't date me, so I'm going to shoot her!” Charlie's voice raised slightly on the last few words. “I interviewed him with Munro at the station. He's not sorry he tried to kill Mary Jackson. He's sorry he shot Emma Keneally. He's sorry he got caught.” He spat, “I spoke to him before as well. He had no problem blaming Winston Cummings.” He sighed softly. He seemed to almost deflate. “That's over a hundred lives easy, changed because of him.”   
“Yes it is.” Blake agrees. “What about Charlie Davis? Wasn't his life changed?”  
“Charlie Davis let Munro get to him. Charlie Davis broke a friend's trust in him out of some pathetic need to please his father.” He sighed. “Charlie Davis is twenty eight and he should be well over that kind of behavior.”  
“Said friend forgives him.”  
“Said friend shouldn't.”  
“Why not?”Blake asked softly.   
“Because Charlie Davis is a fool.”  
“He's really not.” Blake assured him, rubbing his arm gently.   
“Do you ever feel like we aren't making a difference?” Charlie asked, getting that sort of glassy look in his eyes again.   
“How so?”  
“I keep seeing this over and over and over and over again.” He said, softly. “That Goodman boy, you don't need me to tell you about that one, Noel Ashford, he had friends, family, Beatrice, so did she, Father Morten and his Parish...Bobby Lee and his fans….” He said, softly, “It never really ends, does it?”  
“No, it doesn't.” Blake said, as they both looked out at the sky line, as it turned from blue to orange, the day ending.   
“It's not fair.”  
“No it's not.” He agrees.   
“I just feel like we aren't enough. I could arrest everyone in this town, everyone in Australia, and nothing would change.”  
“Well, I'm sure Emma Keaneally would be pleased to hear that we solved her murder.”  
“That you solved her murder.”  
“We.” Blake insists softly.   
“She probably is.” He agreed, with a small sigh.  
“I know that it feels like we aren't making a difference, but we are.”  
“How?”  
“Now there's one less criminal on the streets, isn't there?”  
“He's about sixteen years old.” He mumbled, “Doesn't seem very criminal to me.”  
“You said yourself that he killed Emma Keaneally.”  
“He did.” Charlie agreed, “But God Doc, he's just a kid.” He whispered, “Paul Wooton. He was a kid as well.”  
“But?”  
“Paul Wooton just wanted to protect his sister.”  
“He did, yes.” Blake agreed. “However we don't all poison people, Charlie.”  
“That's true.” He agreed, “But he doesn't seem like a criminal.”  
“But Tommy does?”  
“I keep hearing it over and over in my head.”  
“What? “  
“I only meant to knock the darkie off.”  
“Struck a chord with you?”  
“I guess. It just made me so angry. I know it made you angry as well. I could see you grinding your teeth dull.”  
“You're right, I was. I was very angry.”  
“Tell me about it?”  
“Every reason you just said. I fought for this country, over in Singapore, and moments like that make me question if it was worth it.”  
“Really?”  
“Hm.” Blake agrees.   
“It's good to know that you're human.”  
“Human?”  
“Not some otherworldly martian man who's only emotions are happiness and that weird quiet way you get in interview.”  
“Who calls me a martian?” Blake asked, looking in at Charlie's profile. It looked like he might be smiling, but it was hard to tell in the fading light.   
“Well me, mostly.” Blake laughs and tightens his arm around Charlie briefly. “It's hard sometimes to see you has human when you're so nice. I can only think of bout four moments when you seemed really, really angry.”  
“Maybe I should be angry more often.”  
“Maybe you shouldn't.” Charlie said, quickly. “My nerves are fried as it is. Besides, I'm angry enough for the both of us.”  
“I'm sure I can give you something for that.” Charlie sighed softly.   
“I don't need anything Doc. Except maybe a hug.” Blake gave him a smile and released him so that he could pull Charlie into his arms.   
“Feel better now you've talked about it?”  
“Yeah.” Charlie agrees, releasing the Doctor from the hug. Blake smiled, and let him sit back down on the grass. He looked up at the quickly changing skies, and then back to the Doctor. “What does trust feel like?”  
“Hm?”  
“How will I know, if I trust someone?”Blake paused, and then smiled.   
“Well, firstly you'll like 'em, and then...You'll feel the way you feel in front of a warm fire on a cold night, or when you see the first leaves coming back on a tree. Like giving the first slice of cake to someone else, because you know there's still some for you. Knowing someone is there to catch you on the other side of a fall, that's what trust feels like.” Charlie nods in understanding.   
“And...Do you trust me?”  
“I don't trust anyone.' That earns a small chuckle from Charlie.   
“You trust me enough to let me into your house.”  
“I do.” He agreed, “Maybe I trust you a little. Pinkie finger of trust.” Charlie shakes his head slightly.   
“Well...I might trust you.” Charlie said, after a moment. “I have no idea why, given that you cause me no end of trouble, but I like you. And I trust you...All that crap about first leaves and cake, that too.” Blake laughed softly.   
“Well I'm glad you do.” He smiled. Charlie gave him a slightly strange look. He'd spent his whole life learning how to school his emotions into a careful mask, his life learning how to put every emotion in the little pen where it belonged, only to be let out when he needed it, and now, this man….He seemed to be able to bring out both the best and worst in him within a matter of minutes.   
Sometimes the same minute. The sun vanishes from the sky, the blue is long gone, the orange casts a slight glow over them. “Help an old man up, will you?” Blake smiled, as Charlie scrambled to his feet. He helped the Doctor to stand, and brushed grass off of his knees. Blake mimicked the action, before putting an arm over Charlie's shoulder. Charlie smiled at him, and as they headed back to the house, he wonders why the feeling of this all turning out okay hasn't left him yet. (He doesn't even consider that well, maybe it all will. After all, it's just one hug.) 

…


	4. Liar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Doctors fix people, don't they?”  
> “Yes they do.” Blake said, taking a seat across from Charlie on the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N last chapter! Whelp! I hope you've all enjoyed the ride! This chapter contains Raynauds disease, so if you're not comfortable with that, then don't read! As per usual, leave a comment if you liked it, and feel free to contact me with questions or concerns.

He'd always been so good at hiding things. Lies and truths always seemed to mix in front of his eyes, making the person he wished he was, rather then who he actually was. It was so easy to pretend that he was someone else. It was easy to act like he was powerful. He was a natural born liar, his mother had always said so, from the first stolen sweet to the last fist fight. Charlie Davis lied. He always had. He wasn't even sure he knew what the truth was these days. (It certainly wasn't that he was desperately alone. That was false) 

He faced himself in the mirror. For not the first time in his life, he supposes that he hates the way he looks. Not enough to want to change it, because he can't imagine getting away with as much as he has if he had a face that was more masculine then his own. Perhaps a stronger jaw. His jaw was soft, baby-ish. Perhaps if he fixed the crooked tooth in his bottom row of teeth. Perhaps if his eyebrows were less prominent. Maybe if he didn't look so much like his father. He pushes the thought away because it's been more then ten years since he last cried for his father and he doesn't intend to break his streak tonight. 

It's three am. He should be sleeping. Instead, he is looking at himself in the mirror on the dresser in his room at the Doctor's house. Well done, Charlie, he thinks, as he fingers the bruise that is forming along his left cheek. Given to him by Hobart, by accident, (Probably) he wonders if the bruise is cause enough to bring out the Doctor's fatherly and somewhat protective side. It felt like it was the only way he could really talk to the man. Or perhaps it was just wishful thinking. When it came to the Doctor, he didn't really know. 

He checks the time on his bedside clock. It's still three am. The best time of the day. He can hear the doctor leaving the study, so he hurries. He mustn't have considered how upset he looked because as soon as he was in the Doctor's line of sight, he stopped. “Charlie?” It's quiet, but the meaning is there.   
“Doc.” He said, softly, in reply, “Can I uh...Can I talk with you?” He asks, his fingers bunch in front of his thumbnails rub up against one another. Blake pauses, he's only half dressed, but still somehow manages to look more put together then Charlie does. Blake studied him for a moment, before nodding, and ushering him into his bedroom.   
“What can I do for you, Charlie?” He asks, as Charlie slowly sat on the bed. His nails have grown slightly since the last time he had a heart to heart with the doctor, Blake notices. They're certainly not healthy, and probably not of much use to the sergeant, but it's a start. Charlie watches him with his grey eyes for a long moment, before saying   
“Doctors fix people, don't they?”  
“Yes they do.” Blake said, taking a seat across from Charlie on the bed. One of his hands picks at the the other, or more specifically at a blister that has formed on his left thumb as part of the healing process. After a moment, he gently puts his fingers over the top of Charlie's, and they rest on Charlie's legs.   
“Can you fix me as well?”  
“I don't know what's wrong with you.”  
“Maybe I should just tell you what's right with me.” Charlie whispered, moving his hands away from Blakes, and sitting on them.   
“Okay.” Blake replied, putting his hands in his own lap.   
“Do you have something in that magic bag of yours that will help me tell the truth from lies?”  
“What lies?”  
“The ones I tell, the ones about how happy I am, and how I am alright Doc, really, and the ones that I tell Mattie, 'No Mattie I do not need to be looked over I am fine' and the ones I tell Munro, about….” He stops, “Can you fix all of that?”  
“I think that's something for you to fix.”  
“Can you make it so I can find myself in the middle of it, that I can find out who I am?”  
“Maybe.” One of Charlie's hands go to his lips. His dull fingernails pick at the cracks in his bottom lip. Blake gently pulls his hand away.   
“Can you fix that?”  
“I don't think so.” Charlie looks at Blake's fingers around hi wrist, but says nothing, and makes no attempt to pull his wrist away. “What brings this on?” Blake asked softly, putting his other hand over Charlie's fingers. “What's happened?” Charlie wiped at his eyes furiously with his other hand. He looked totally miserable.   
“I was okay.” He whispered, as Blake shifted closer, “And then you had to go and be so nice to me, and you didn't want anything back. You were just...Nice.” He said, bitterly. “You reminded me that you're someones father, but not mine. Because mine is dead.” He spat, but Blake doesn't seem upset. Charlie's natural defense mechanism was to be angry. It's done him well this far in his life, so he's never had a reason to abandon it. Never had cause to change.   
“You want me to be your father?”  
“No.” He said, quickly, shaking his head furiously. He looked back at their fingers, “Maybe.” He admits. Blake offers him a hug but Charlie pulls his hand away and clasps his fingers tightly in his lap. Blake pulls his hands away. It had just seemed like Charlie had wanted it, to be close to him. Apparently he was wrong because Charlie kept his distance. “The fences.” He said, softly.   
“Fences?”  
“The fences, in my head, the ones that keep my emotions all neat and orderly, keep them under control..”He whispered.   
“What about them?” Blake asked, leaning forward slightly, Charlie had that slightly glazed over look again.   
“When I'm...Around you, they fall down, or my emotions rush at them like horses, and I can't control them the way I used to be able to.” He said, “Then I zone out because I have to get them under control, I can't look weak, I can't...” He said. His fingers tighten around each other, his knuckles turn white. Blake carefully puts his hands on top of Charlie's. “I'm going to break down.” He said, softly. “I can feel that too.” He admits, watching their fingers. “I thought...You're a doctor. You fix people, maybe you could fix me too.”   
“I don't think you need to be fixed.” Blake said, quietly. “Because I don't think there's anything wrong with you.”  
“Nothing wrong with me? Then why do I feel like this? Why does it hurt?”  
“Because you're sad.”   
“Am I?”  
“And it sounds to me like you miss your dad.” Charlie laughs softly, standing. “Why did I think you would understand? Or you would help me? Can you explain that to me, Doc?” His fingers break away from the Doctors. Blake stands as well. “What are you doing?”  
“Going with you.”  
“With me?”  
“Yes.”  
“Why?”  
“Because you aren't thinking straight.” Blake replied, as Charlie looked in the direction of his room, and the stairs. After a moment, he its back on the bed, Blake follows. He sits closer to Charlie again. There's a moment, and then Charlie looks back to his fingers. Blake follows his gaze, before looking into his face. “Why do you think you need to be fixed?” Charlie looks down to his fingers.   
“Because a normal person...They don't act like this.”  
“Act like what?”  
“A liar.”  
“A liar?”  
“I always lie. About who I am. About what I've done. It just came so naturally, that I didn't think it would matter.”  
“What have you lied about?”  
“I don't call my mother every night. She hates me. She hates the way I lie.”  
“She never taught you anything else?”  
“She never had time.” He said, “I lie all the time, to Munro. About you, mostly.”  
“About me?”  
“He wants to know what I know about you.”  
“What do you say?” Charlie doesn't offer him a reply, he just smiles slightly at his fingertips.   
“Nothing, nothing important.” Blake gave him a curious look, because when Charlie says nothing it always means something.   
“You're lying now, aren't you?”  
“Maybe. So what if I am?” He asked. “I came here to ask you to help me.”  
“And like I said, Charlie, I can't help you if you won't tell me what's wrong.” Charlie feels like he's been tossed back to square one.   
“I just want to be like how I was, again.”  
“How you were?”  
“When I first came here, and it didn't matter to me what happened to you. When I wasn't bothered by wanting, by needing your approval, because I hated you.” Blake had never once gotten the impression that Charlie had hated him.   
“You hated me?”  
“You were loud, and you broke rules and you were right.” He said, “And that scared me. Because you scared me, I hated you.”  
“Have you always felt like that?”  
“Why do you care?”  
“You came to me for help. I'm trying to help you.”  
“I-I know.” He admitted, softly. “Maybe I'm not ready for help.” He said, softly. “Maybe I need to do some soul searching, or something.”  
“Maybe.” Blake agreed, moving so he was sitting next to Charlie. “Or maybe you just need a helping hand.” Charlie sighed softly, and shifted away when the Doctor tried to put an arm around him. He'd never done that before, Blake thinks, that being said, his thoughts continue, he'd never been this hard to talk to before. “In my experience, change is not often a bad thing, Charlie.” He said, softly. “Tell me what's wrong. I'll tell you if I can help.”  
“You were right.” He said, softly. “I miss my dad.”   
“Tell me about him, why you miss him.”  
“He was…He looked just like me.” Charlie said, after a moment. “He had blue eyes, not like mine, though. More like yours, I suppose. Mine are more grey. He had big hands, as well.” He said, looking to his own hands. “He had Raynaud's Disease in his left hand, and when it….He would tell me that holding my hand would help.” He said, with a funny little smile that Blake thinks might be a real smile. “I know now that it didn't, but at the time I thought that I was so important.” he whispered. “He always parted his hair on the right and he would tell me that was because the left was the side of the devil.” He said, softly. “He always took his tea with a lot of milk, but no sugar.” He commented. “I always thought it was strange, but no one else did.” He commented, “He was nice. I can't ever remember him yelling at anyone.” He said, “I know he must of, he was a police officer, a Senior Constable, I think.” He murmured, “And when war broke out, again, like you, Lawson and all the other young men in my building, off he went.” He said, softly. “He was my age, when he died.”  
“Your age?”  
“Twenty eight.”  
“He got married young, then?” Charlie nods.   
“He was only twenty one, when I was born.”   
“And your mother?”  
“She did her best, but I don't really blame her. She was nineteen when I was born. She didn't know how to be a mother. I was a bit of a burden, after that. She got remarried, very soon after the war ended. Waited. Had more kids. She knew how to look after them, she learned.” He shrugged. “I don't know what you think of me, now, but I really loved my brothers.” He said, softly. “They were so small, and kids are so funny...” He said, his eyes watered softly, and Blake had a feeling that they were happy tears. Charlie shook his head slightly. She's a good lady, my Mum. She had no idea how to care for a child but she did her best. I love her as well, I guess. I wish we were close. But...if my child was a liar, I wouldn't like him very much either.”  
“Did you lie to me at all, just now?” Charlie shook his head no.   
“I'm to emotionally distressed, you'd see right though it.” Charlie pauses, and then says, softly, “but i've never fooled you, have I?” Blake shakes his head no.   
“No. Not really. You're a very good liar, Charlie but I'm a doctor.” Charlie looked slightly upset. Blake Blake gently puts his hands over Charlie's, but he shakes them off. “You didn't lie to me at all, just now. Maybe you should try being open more often. He nods, and then gasps softly, whatever he was about to say was interrupted.   
“Oh.”   
“What?” Blake asks. Charlie holds up one of his hands for Blake to see. His three last fingers on his left hand have gone white.   
“I didn't know that it got passed down.” He said, softly, as Blake took his hand between both of his.   
“Now, your father...”  
“Primary, I think.” He said, softly, Blake pulled him to his feet, and into the surgery. 

“There's nothing you can do, except wrap it up and wait for it to pass.”  
“How se-”  
“Not very. It never went septic, if that's what your asking.”  
“You don't seem very distressed.” Blake noted. Normally he would have expected a change like this to throw Charlie into some kind of paranoia filled coma.   
“I should have known. Maybe it's my destiny to be just like him.”   
“I thought you didn't believe in destiny?”  
“I don't, but maybe I should.” He comments, watching as the doctor wrapped his hand tightly in cloth. “That won't help, Doctor. Give me back my gloves, maybe that'll fix it.”  
“Did you really think that was going to work?” Blake asked, checking his bottom drawer to make sure Charlie's confiscated gloves were still there.   
“It was worth a shot.” He shrugged, holding his hand up chest to try and warm it up. “And now I know you keep them in the bottom drawer.” Blake shook his head, and then looked back at Charlie. He was probably lying about how he felt. He looked to be back to his old self, but it didn't take a genius to know that he was still very much hurting. “You seem to be feeling better.”  
“I guess.” Charlie agreed, before he paused. “That was a lie.”  
“I know.”  
“You really can't fix me?”  
“No, I can't.” Charlie looked down at his wrapped hand. Blake sat in the chair facing him. “But I can stand by you and help you fix yourself.”   
“What if I don't know how?”  
“Then I'll help you.” Charlie looked at his fingers, and then after a moment, reached over, and took Blake's hand into his own, and put his under them. Blake can feel Charlie's blood deprived fingers on his legs. He fastens his hands over the top of Charlie's. It's a very small step, and from here, Blake decides that Baby steps are all they need.


End file.
